


Aziraphale's Night Off

by Daegaer



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angels, Demons, M/M, Secret Relationship, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-02
Updated: 2004-03-02
Packaged: 2019-08-09 00:22:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16439639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: Aziraphale has a night off. Crowley can't believe his eyes.





	Aziraphale's Night Off

Crowley brought the Bentley to a screeching halt outside the shop just as Aziraphale was locking the door. They stared at each other, identical expressions of shock on both their faces, and then Aziraphale gave a game little smile and a little wave.

'Must rush, Crowley. Terribly sorry.'

He was almost around the corner by the time Crowley had recovered enough to yell after him.

'Where the hell do you think you're going dressed like that? You look like a bloody old --'

* * *

Shoving Crowley into the shop's back room, Aziraphale said very firmly, ' _One_ cup of tea, then I really must go.'

Crowley slithered out of his grasp and turned on him, his face a mass of suspicion, bewilderment and irritation. 'You're not wearing a suit,' he said.

'No,' Aziraphale sighed.

'You always wear a suit. Made of wool. This is made of - of -'

'Leather,' Aziraphale said, feeling he could hardly lie, given the circumstances. 'Well, the waistcoat's actually a very heavy-duty PVC.'

'And you never wear trousers like that,' Crowley said, staring closer than Aziraphale thought was strictly polite. 'Not that they're trousers so much as they're - what are they, Aziraphale?'

'Chaps,' Aziraphale said, crossing his arms.

'Chaps,' Crowley agreed. 'What are you wearing under them? Oh my G-- _Aziraphale!_ '

'Perhaps you'd like coffee instead?' Aziraphale said brightly.

Crowley began to laugh. 'Sorry,' he said weakly, 'it's the cap - it's not quite your usual headgear. What the hell are you dressed up like that for?'

'I'm meeting someone I'm working with,' Aziraphale said as calmly as he could manage. 'In a club.'

'A club where they dress like that? You old disgrace of an angel, you.'

' _Really_ , Crowley,' Aziraphale said. 'You have to fit in when you meet people, too, don't tell me you don't. And do you really think all the people I'm interested in wear suits and ties? You should know better, look at all the politicians you've got working for you.'

'Can I give you a lift?' Crowley said, smiling in a sharply unpleasant way Aziraphale knew all too well.

'No thanks. You'd only find some excuse to queer my pitch.'

Crowley yelped something in a strangled voice about that not being too difficult and left, sniggering loudly. Aziraphale shook his head and made himself a nice cup of tea, drinking it slowly. He put the empty cup in the sink and thought that Crowley must be half-way across London by now. He picked up his phone, took out the address book Crowley didn't know about and dialled. It was answered on the first ring.

'I'll be a bit late,' Aziraphale said. 'No, everything's fine.' He smiled at the cheerful, excited tone of the voice on the other end. 'That sounds nice, I'm glad you bought yourself something pretty. You know I like you to look good when we're out. Be there soon, dear.'

He locked up the shop and strolled off, a spring in his step.


End file.
